


Vignette

by Abyssiniana



Series: Stunted Cigarettes [2]
Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe (1984), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, First Time, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Oral Sex, Protect My Son, Smut, Sven is a love-struck fool, Sven is too pure, They're teens, i'm so sorry for hurting him like this, svemelle, they're young and dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 13:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14695542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssiniana/pseuds/Abyssiniana
Summary: «Sven Holgersson was in for a heartbreak.»__as in, the story of how the stoic Norwegian boy stopped believing in love.





	Vignette

Sven Holgersson was in for a heartbreak.

 

That much he knew from the moment he laid eyes on that girl’s golden locks of hair, elegantly pulled back in a ponytail, and blue eyes that put the  Summer  sky to shame.  She was probably the most kind-hearted person he had ever met. She was funny, a lovable dork in the most endearing sense of the word, but there was this serious side to her as well, the one that made people realize that she meant business whenever she put her mind to it. She was a leader, an honest and cheerful person, however sweetly immature. She was also incredibly gorgeous and breathtaking…  Her voice was sweet, her skin freckled and pale and smooth and perfect,  _ all _ of her was perfect. The only thing that made her short of a Disney Princess was the lack of little animal friends that she rescued and nursed back to health that just kinda continued to hang around and love on her. But who knows, maybe one day her apartment will be full of twittering birds and cute little squirrels.

 

Essentially, she was an adorable little ray of sunshine.

 

Sven Holgersson felt his heartstrings tug desperately at some sense in his mind, demanding that he’d come down from the high that had his head floating with the clouds and face the fact that Romelle - the Disney Princess, because that was the only accurate description for such a beautiful girl - had sent him a text message, this gloomy Saturday afternoon.

 

He might’ve read it over about a hundred times, had he bothered to count them, dwelling on the meaning of every single word. He kept staring at the screen of the smartphone until it turned black and mirrored his ridiculously blushing face. Was this real?

 

She wanted to meet him. Romelle, the elegant, superb, sublime, stunning Romelle… wanted to go out with nerdy, stoic, stupid, lovestruck Sven.

 

Part of him ignored the fact that she needed his help to prepare for their Math test next week only to bide on the idea of spending some alone time with the girl of his dreams.

 

Sven Holgersson was in for a heartbreak, but he texted her back anyway.

 

~*~

 

Was this too soon? They were so young in a worldly perspective, fourteen was so little time compared to what they had ahead of them. It felt like they were moving too fast, but what was a teenage boy if not his crushes and his mistakes and the idea that his whole existence depends on the beautiful goddess beneath him, the girl he’s about to make a woman of?

 

Sven’s first love, Sven’s first kiss, Sven’s first  _ everything _ . It felt so soon but also so right and meant to happen as spontaneously as the curve of Romelle’s back as she lifted herself from the mattress. She removed her shirt with ease, and where he first felt the fabric of her top against his already bare chest, he then felt the lace of her bra and only when he reached behind her to unclip the single remaining barrier between them, he was blessed with the warm and smooth feeling of her perky breasts against his torso.

 

He might’ve resisted the urge to cup her breast, but that amount of self-control was soon out the window when she whispered permission, his hand so large around her, so kindly kneading her bosom and simultaneously laying small kisses in the area where her neck linked to her shoulder. Were he feeling daring, he would’ve sucked a red mark on her sensitive skin for her to look at later and remember that he had been there.  

 

Romelle bloomed underneath him, the dynamics of her mischievous smile itching him like the white flower of nettles, which act in the same way as a hypodermic needle when the skin comes in contact with it, the itch spreading wherever she touched; and man, did her touch linger. Like he was being branded by her hand, her whole body in fact, Sven shivered above her, positioning himself between her legs.

 

His boner raged against the constriction of his jeans, but that wasn’t the point; not yet. If they were going to do this, he’d have to do it properly.

 

God be his witness, he would make sure she’d have the time of her life before he dared to as much as palm at his erection. Romelle deserved as much devotion as he held for her in his weak, compliant, loyal heart.

 

Almost hesitantly, Sven reached for her lips with his own once more, before trailing his tongue down to her chin and neck. A pathway of kisses dragged down to her nipple, saluting it with a gentle lick before engulfing the pink flesh in the heat of his mouth. His fingers worked on the other twin, mimicking the movements of his tongue, massaging it and tentatively squeezing it. That same hand caressed its way down to her belly, around her navel, to rest at her waist, the edges and arches of her stunning body burnt into the back of his mind.

 

How many times had he dreamt about the feeling of her skin goosebumping under his touch? Only too many, often followed by the guilt of the post-jerk-off feeling, but never had it compared to the real thing. His imagination was so pale and insipid when in confrontation with the reality of the moment.

 

She guided him further down with a rolling of her hips, tugging her denim mini-skirt upwards rather than downwards, keeping it around her hips to expose her lower half.

 

He thought it was adorable that her panties didn’t match her pale blue laced bra - it always felt so unrealistic that the women in the movies he watched always seemed to have planned their best lingerie set for allegedly “impromptu” sex scenes. Romelle was so natural at everything she did, if she said her underwear matched, then Sven would believe it.

 

With a nearly mute pop, Sven’s lips broke apart from her hardened nipple and he pulled himself back only to slide his shaky palms up her (oh so fucking smooth) thighs to hook on the edge of her striped underwear and pull it down. He took his sweet time, reminiscing of all the times she had walked past him in the school hallways at enough speed that the skirt of her uniform lifted with the impetus just to tease his eyes, just to make him dream of what she hid underneath.

 

At the verboten sight, the Norwegian boy had to take a shaky breath to steady himself, his tongue capturing his lower lip into his mouth to be nibbled on. The way Romelle jerked at the caress of his inexperienced finger had Sven smiling to himself, and mentally showing tremendous gratitude to all the Gods in every known mythology for allowing him this precarious, depraved moment,  _ thank you, thank you, oh thank you _ . 

 

Eyes darkened in a haze, Sven licked his lips, taking in the sight before him; a marbled beauty, pale skin lightly brushed with pink assets, reddening as it closed in to the center, a little gleamy with what he could pompously assume to be a result of his tender ministrations so far.

 

He wouldn’t guess that she’d shave down there, that was a surprise. She was too young to care about that type of unrealistic aesthetics; Sven knew she’d be just as marvelous if she didn’t bother. 

 

As if to distract himself to avoid the embarrassment of premature ejacualtion, Sven closed his eyes and grabbed Romelle’s left thigh, gently digging his fingertips on the outer side and bringing her closer for him to kiss.

 

If he stared like an idiot at her leaking cunt any longer, he would die, he just knew he’d be the type of pitiful virgin who’d have a stroke before effectively getting to do anything at all. 

 

Inspired by either his own curiosity or the fake educational purposes of pornography videos, Sven kissed his way down to her center, looking up the valleys of Romelle’s splendid body as he accommodated his face between her willing legs. He was surrounded by her, swarmed by her warmth, her scent intoxicatingly sweet, just as the premises of an erotic novel assured. 

 

Tentatively, Sven leaned in to kiss the little pulsing bud of her sex, his wet tongue following with hesitation to separate her labia. A delicate hand -  _ her _ hand, her beautiful, pianist worthy hand - carded through his onyx black hair, tugging some encouragement into him.

 

The girl melted under his careful touch, grinding towards him in silent demand. She was so delicious, though he couldn’t quite categorize her taste; in a poetic interpretation, she was juicy, luscious, silky, summery, hot,  _ so fucking hot _ , but the logical and commanding side of his brain told him it wasn’t objectively tasty at all, but that was Romelle; just her, being worked open by his mouth, shivering, thighs quivering, mouth agape and head tossed back.

 

A sound that resembled a whine caught his attention, making him lift his head. Was he being too rough? God, she deserved all the care and tenderness and if he had hurt her...

 

Clearly it hadn’t been the case; Romelle ondulated her body, lifting her hips to ride his face, to use him to her own pleasure, and Sven was more than okay with that kind of treatment. There was a chance he was delusional, but he could swear he felt her heartbeat against his lips as he ate her up.

 

He wanted to make stupid love to this girl, to give her the orgasm - or several in a row - of a lifetime. The whole concept of Romelle consisted of a godly existence, a deity of love and sensuality and unattainable perfection, and she had him on his knees - rather, between her legs -, worshipping her like she deserved.

 

His name escaped from her lips in a naughty plea and urgent warning, and he groaned into her entrance, the timbre of his voice sending vibrations up her spine. Though he couldn’t be sure that she was coming, he only stopped flickering his tongue against her tender flesh when she stopped jolting and her moans quieted into shaky breaths. 

 

So graceful, heavenly, even with strands of her golden hair sticking to her sweaty forehead and tears in the corners of her eyes. She was a mess but such a beautiful one, one that he made and couldn’t help but to be proud for.

 

Drool and come alike coated Sven’s chin, and he had to wipe it to the back of his hand before he was pulled to fall over Romelle’s body. Their lips clashed with despair and it was reckless, disorderly, a feeling of scorch across his face and clogging his nose and the totality of his respiratory tract. She ground upwards, making the Scandinavian boy swallow a whine at the tease. They rubbed on one another as they made out, Sven’s thumb caressing circles in the curve of her hip, her long nails dragging across his back and sides until she moved them to slip beneath his pants.

 

It was okay, like this; it was excellent and perfect, more than he could ever hope for, but she didn’t want to stop there.

 

Now wasn’t the time to feel shy about taking off his pants, not after what they had already done and definitely not when Romelle was waiting, a pair of precious sapphires staring up at him expectantly.

 

Deciding that he shouldn’t delay, he rolled his jeans down his thighs, his face flustered all the way to his ears. He noticed that Romelle had no shame in looking straight at the bulge hidden by his underwear, and while that could make him less nervous, it gave him this jittery wave of self-consciousness that made him weak at the knees. His size was solemnly average, that much he was comfortable about, but the fact that Romelle - divine, unique, carved out of stardust Romelle - would be the first girl to ever see him naked…

 

And touch him,  _ dear God _ , he hoped that she would touch him even if he was bound to spontaneously combust upon contact.

 

Sven’s boner practically bounced out of the restrict of his boxers, his gaze darting anywhere but at the gorgeous girl - a fluffy pink teddy bear that sat across the bedroom, the sole silent witness of their endeavours. She palmed at his volume, making him wince, and slowly stroked it.

 

She grinned with a hint of bliss enlarging her pupils, her arm extending towards the drawer of the white wooden bedside table.

 

Why did she even own a box of condoms? That was a question Sven would dwell on at another time, or on the way back home later that day, and maybe then he would realize that the pack he was given wasn’t the first of the carton, but for the time being, he took it with uncertain hands. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to put it on (it was simple enough, right?) but he found himself frozen, limbs suddenly tense as he stared down at the silver foil.

 

This was happening. He was about to have sex.

 

Not that he didn’t consider the oral as a form of “sex”, but the whole act of penetration seemed so much more…  _ serious _ . Rather, consequential. Mostly overwhelming. The real problem was that he wasn’t sure if he could perform as well as Romelle should expect. He had no experience and she was beautiful, and just how many bloody times had Sven pitifully fucked his own fist imagining this once utopian scenario where he’d be the one to deflower the most beautiful girl he had ever seen?!

 

“Let me.” she whispered before he could realize how long had passed, and Sven did, observing as she ripped the square shaped package with her teeth. He flinched like a moron when she reached for him, hating himself when he saw Romelle’s hand hovering a few inches away from his hardened cock.

 

_ No no no, it wasn’t you, you’re so beautiful, you’re so perfect, it’s just--! _

 

Sven tried to open his mouth to assure her but his tongue was swollen, his jaw sore, his member so, so hard. It might have been for the best that he stuttered, or he would simply say some nonsense he’d anguish over later. He heard Romelle giggle at the scarlet of his face and that sound played on loop in his head as her thin arms curled around his neck, pulling his body to cover hers like they were meant to be like that. 

 

As soon as Sven’s overstimulation pacified enough to allow as much as a touch - and a few gentle strokes - the condom was rolled down his length by hands that somehow knew what they were doing. There was no surprise when Romelle took the lead, promptly reopening her legs to guide Sven’s protected member to her entrance, having to wiggle herself around it for a few tries before he was allowed inside and  _ oh-- _ .

 

That… that was a whole dimension of something Sven wasn’t prepared for.

 

He masturbated as often as the next guy and got creative enough with his hands to simulate what he would believe a snatch would feel like, but good  _ Lord _ , was that foolish. Romelle was crushing, clenching, so alive and warm around him, and Jesus Christ,  _ fuck _ , he was going to come.

 

Before he could bring himself to move, Sven had to take several deep breaths - all of which came out shaky and erratic, the imminence of the inevitable promising him a frontal collision like a bus on his temple. It was the blonde who grew impatient, her fingertips on Sven’s waist, commanding his movements.

 

The pace was sloppy at first, even if he tried so hard to do it right; nothing less than perfect was acceptable for his princess. Sven’s fists gripped at the sheets on either side of her head as he looked to steady himself, his limbs as weak as his little trembling heart, which had long since retired from its vital function only to become nothing short of white noise pulsing in his head, much like everything else but the music of Romelle’s soft mewling.

 

Sven  _ loved _ Romelle. He loved Romelle so much it twisted his stomach, and he said so to the gorgeous woman beneath him. Did her smile mean that she loved him back? Could he dream of that? There was no doubt that Sven belonged, body and soul and whatever else she’d take from him, to Romelle; and for as long he would have her too, he would make sure she would be properly taken care of, so eagerly, honorably and obsessively loved. He would give her the world, if only she would let him.

 

Raising his hand he stroked her puffy cheek, mentally connecting the dots of her freckled nose like constellations. The corners of Sven’s mouth tugged a lovesick smile when she nuzzled into his palm.

 

There were words of praise and he thrusted with care and ultimate commitment, hips rolling down at the rhythm their teenage desperation dictated. He hungrily mouthed at her neck, kissing and sucking, taking the opportunity to hide his face; Sven was so close it was distressing ( _ hold it in, just a bit longer, you dork, please, don’t make a fool of yourself, not with her _ ), painful even, sweat accumulating at the end of his back.

 

Breath hitching, chest heaving, the sight of her hair spread across the flower patterned sheets like a halo, her smile stretching further the deeper she allowed him, her arms reaching up to cup his face and kiss him, her voice calling out for him in a murmur and urging him to lose himself, to go harder, to do it, do it,  _ do it _ .

 

Grey eyes met blue ones in an apocalypse of passion. They kissed so dearly and it was otherworldly, with comets and stars and suns and satellites and cosmos behind his eyelids, an explosion so beautiful, but so dull in comparison to her beauteous face when the supernova of the orgasm hit her.

 

So gorgeous, so pretty, and so hopefully  _ his _ .

 

~*~

 

Across the following week, Romelle arrived just in time for the beginning of their classes and left before Sven had the chance to initiate a conversation. Not that he would, he was no good at that. There were several hints he could take from her clear avoidance (though there was a probability that he was simply imagining this and selfishly making it about him; when had she ever stopped to talk to him at school before? That’s right, never).

 

That thought didn’t make him feel any better.

 

They had parted ways last Saturday without actually doing any Math, but there was a farewell kiss so he was hopeful. She never called nor replied to his text, but he didn’t insist either. Maybe she needed time.

 

_ … Time for what? _

 

In the canteen, Sven spotted an angel,  _ the _ angel, with her silky golden locks and flawless smile and weightless walk. She could wear that ugly ass uniform and make it look high fashion, worthy of a spread for Vogue magazine, working the tacky out of the combination of dark green, burgundy and grey.

 

When their eyes met out of chance and he parted his lips with a shy “hey” hanging from them, he was silenced with the indifference of a fleeting stare. She ignored him, walking past him with her illustrious attitude and Barbie-like confidence. Daggers stabbed him in the heart, bile traveled backwards from his stomach to his mouth, and Sven might’ve felt like crying, but he didn’t. She hadn’t seen him, perhaps, the damn refectory was as crowded as expected on mac’n’cheese day.

 

Either way, he felt like utter  _ shit _ , and not even the Scandinavian public school version of the  extra greasy pinnacle of American cuisine pulled him out of that one.

 

Romelle certainly had a lot on her mind, Sven told himself, chanting the phrase in his head like a mantra; anything to pretend that the clutch in his chest didn’t mean a thing and that he was overthinking and that the princess of his dreams wasn’t intentionally blacklisting him out of her life just when he managed to get into it.

 

A cold muzzle sniffed at his hand with a soft whine, pulling him out of the whirlpool of depression; it was late, but  _ Reidun _ \- a loyal white furred Samoyan beast and a  _ very _ good girl - needed her daily walk and Sven could use the fresh air. He patted her head apologetically for forgetting, and headed out with her.

 

His jacket was left behind on the coat hanger but Sven didn’t mind it enough to go back to retrieve it; he was more than used to the chilly Norwegian nights and he was quite convinced that after Romelle’s icy condescending stare earlier that day he had developed immunity to frostbite. The long-sleeved navy blue shirt, dark pajama pants and snow boots combo he was wearing would do.

 

Waiting by the gate, he allowed his pet to trot around the garden freely, sniffling at the grass to elect the perfect spot to receive the contents of her bladder; they wouldn’t stray too far - maybe head to the park a couple blocks away? Once  _ Reidun _ was done with her first drops of pee they strolled down the road, playing fetch with a discarded stick to get the dog to do some exercise and stopping as often as she decided to leave her mark near posts or someone else’s lawn.

 

It was merely a coincidence, but Sven would call it fate that he saw Romelle exiting a bus across the street while he was picking up his dog’s nasty bit of business with a lavender scented canine waste bag. Sven’s fate had a questionable sense of humor, and that night, fate was putting up a stand-up comedy show for a silent crowd, because what he saw was a very poorly landed, ineffective  _ joke _ .

 

Rather than the school uniform he was used to seeing Romelle in, she wore a dress, short, red, tight, so inappropriate for her age, a black leather jacket covering her shoulders. Her lipstick wasn’t of the usual pale peachy color, but instead a harsh bordeaux that made her look older. Her hair fell over her shoulders, blonde waves dancing with each step taken with a pair of heels that mocked gravity and threatened a twisted ankle. The implications that came with her looks…

 

No.  _ No _ way.

 

Sven had way too many questions. He was kicked in the gut with the sudden need to  _ scold _ her for being out in the cold so late wearing… t-that type of clothes, and bring her to his place and set a blanket around her shoulders and hold the fucking  _ injudiciousness _ out of her for the rest of the night. Kiss her mistakes away and tell her it was okay,  _ it’s okay _ , it’s okay if she stopped, if she only  _ stopped _ … She didn’t need this, not his beloved princess.

 

But he had no right.

 

Romelle disappeared in a corner and Sven couldn’t stop his feet from walking, pacing, running, and then  _ sprinting _ after her. There had to be some sort of explanation, this wasn’t right.

 

Sven Holgersson should have known better than to follow her.

 

He should have known that 9th graders couldn’t afford Louis Vuitton bags.

 

He should have known what it meant when she leaned her back against the brick wall of an alleyway, and he should’ve gone back home before he could see her pick up her expensive phone to answer the call of a man old enough to be her father, who seconds later appeared and extended his arm towards her. He should’ve walked away before he could read the words “Daddy” on her tainted lips, just so he wouldn’t have to see them kiss. 

 

Still, he didn’t move, not even when the strange man invited her into the passenger seat of his Mercedes and drove them away from sight.

 

Sven Holgersson was in for a heartbreak since the very start.


End file.
